


Of Wolves and Men

by madaboutasoiaf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madaboutasoiaf/pseuds/madaboutasoiaf
Summary: Aegon’s advisors will think he is a fool and perhaps he is





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WomanOfWinterfell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WomanOfWinterfell/gifts).



> This is a birthday present which took me months to write... it's meant to be based on a fluffy prompt but it morphed into something else because that's usually what happens when I try to write fluff

Aegon’s advisors will think he is a fool and perhaps he is. He heard the rumours about the Northern princess long before he ventured North. _War commander, sorceress, witch._ He knew some of it to be true. She commanded both wolves and men, he saw that for himself. Whether it was sorcery, he knew not. In his presence she just seemed a woman. An extraordinary woman who disarmed him with her smile and quick wit and a warm welcome he did not expect.

She shows him Winterfell, and accompanies him when he goes riding in the wolfswood, and he is unable to keep up with her until she lets him. Aegon is drawn in by her kindnesses, and startled by her response when he is kind to her in turn. Her smile is radiant, and he thinks for a moment she might embrace him, and finds himself disappointed when she does not.

He watches the way the wolves follow her, feeling terribly afraid at first then overwhelmingly curious.

“How do you command them?” he asks. “Why do they not harm you?”

She simply shrugs.

“I am a wolf,” she says. “They are my pack, just as much as my family are.”

Aegon finds his courage a short while into his visit. If his family once rode dragons then he knows he must not be intimidated by wolves. He finds Arya in the godswood with the largest of the pack, the direwolf. The she-wolf bares teeth at him in a snarl and Aegon is frozen where he stands, his heart in his throat, but Arya quietens the animal with a sharp word.

“Aegon is a friend,” she scolds the wolf.

He wants to run but he doesn’t, he can’t. Arya will think him no man at all if he does and her opinion matters to him. He does not know why it matters so much but it does, and it is something beyond mere friendship. The wolf moves toward him, watching him with golden eyes.

“She won’t hurt you if your intentions are good.”

He glances at Arya, and _gods_ she is like a myth breathed into life. There is something in the way she moves that’s almost predatory, and she’s wild, unkempt and dirt stained. He’s meant to be watching the wolf but Arya’s gaze is fixed on him and she’s clutching flowers in her hand. She is grace, and power, and the wind makes the leaves above him rustle and it almost sounds as though the trees are whispering her name.

The wolf is almost upon him and Aegon makes himself look. She sniffs at him, and Aegon whispers a prayer because he started with good intentions but _seven hells_ he’s failed and if the wolf can sense it he’s sure she’ll rip him apart. He’s certain he looks like a craven fool but if he does, the wolf does not mind it because she gives him a final sniff then turns her tail and lopes off through the trees.

“Bigger men than you have pissed themselves,” Arya says.

Aegon is startled, and then he laughs.

“I was a little afraid,” he admits.

Her long face becomes solemn and Aegon thinks he has said the wrong thing for a moment.

“My father once said a man can only be brave when he is afraid,” she whispers.

“In that case I’ll confess that I was very afraid,” Aegon says quickly.

That makes her smile again, even if her eyes are still sad. She looks down at the flowers in her hand and suddenly she seems almost shy, younger than she was a moment ago, and she separates one from the bunch and holds it out to him.

“Here stupid,” she tells him. “For your bravery.”

He takes it and has a mad thought, and the words are out of his mouth before he can call them back.

“What if it isn’t a flower that I want?”

Arya cocks her head and he half expects the wolves to descend on him but if they are near he cannot see them. He reaches out, emboldened, and places the flower behind her ear. It’s white and he thinks it suits her threaded through that messy dark hair.

“What is it that you want?” she asks. “If you tell me I can decide if you have earned it.”

Her eyes are wide and she’s biting her lip. She seems innocent but something tells him that she’s no less dangerous now than when the direwolf was by her side

“A kiss,” he blurts out. Her eyes narrow a little and Aegon feels as though he’s being tested again, and if he fails this one he knows he’ll be sorry. “If you permit it,” he adds.

He knows he said something right when she steps forward, and her hands rest lightly on his shoulders.  He can smell the flower he put in behind her ear when she rises on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. Her breath is warm and her lips linger on his skin.

“I permit it,” she says in a low voice.

He hears a wolf howl nearby and the moment ends suddenly. Arya is whirling away from him, cupping her hands around her mouth and howling back, and as she darts away from him on impossibly light feet she looks back over her shoulder at him and smiles.

His breath catches in his throat and Aegon knows then that his advisors will think him worse than a fool. He no longer cares.

*

_Perhaps she has bewitched me after all,_ he thinks as he stands in the hall in front of her brothers and their wolves, requesting an audience as though he were a supplicant.

“Your grace,” he begins. He tries to look at the face of the young man in the high seat, to treat him as a king. Brandon Stark is young, and crippled, but Aegon knows this young, crippled boy is the one with the power in this hall, not least for his role in the war. _Warg, seer, god._  Aegon takes a breath, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “I have a request, if it pleases you.”

Brandon Stark smiles and it seems to Aegon that he already knows what Aegon means to ask. He looks to his left and then to his right before his gaze settles on Aegon again.

“My sister, Arya, is not with us. It may be best that we wait for her to arrive, to have her counsel.”

Aegon hesitates because Brandon Stark must know his sister well, and perhaps Aegon is taking the wrong course, but the white direwolf has bared teeth at him twice since Arya kissed him in the godswood and he is beginning to think it means something. Jon Snow seems to know nothing of it but the black direwolf has begun snarling at him now too and Aegon knows he must face Arya’s brothers.

“My request concerns her, your grace.”

Jon Snow’s long face is usually unreadable but he looks as though he is trying not to smile now.

“You are not the first to stand in this Hall and speak of Arya,” he says. “Our sister does not take kindly to it.”

“Nobody tells Arya what to do,” Rickon Stark announces with a laugh. “Arya knows her own mind.”

They are not being unkind but Aegon flushes, embarrassed. This isn’t at all what he had planned. He takes a breath, determined to forge on. Brandon Stark is not laughing. The young king is the one Stark offering any encouragement, and his direwolf is still, watching Aegon in a way that reminds him of the she-wolf’s acceptance.

“Your brothers misjudge my intent, your grace,” he tells the king. “I know that the princess is a trusted advisor, and her voice is held in high regard in your court.” _I know she is your mistress of secrets._ “I only wish to ask…”

Words fail him. Too many people are watching. He meant for it to be a private audience and it began that way, but now he can hear giggles and whispers and Rickon Stark is playing with his direwolf, leaning over in his seat and saying something quietly and the direwolf begins to approach Aegon, paying no mind to his master’s laughter filled call of “Shaggy no.”

Aegon takes one step back and wishes he hadn’t because the white wolf begins to pursue him too and Jon Snow isn’t even trying to call it back. Brandon Stark is no longer calm, he now looks frustrated and he’s still attempting to hold court and keep his brothers in check and the giggling is becoming louder until a door creaks and everybody turns to look at the new arrival, everybody but Aegon who is still backing away from the wolves slow approach.

“I only wanted to court her,” he says desperately. “I hoped you would not be averse to it.”

The hall falls eerily silent. The wolves have stopped still, almost like statues but for the fur bristling on the backs of their necks. Aegon feels a presence behind him and before he can turn the she-wolf passes him, so close she almost brushes against him. Her brother wolves retreat at her approach, suddenly submissive as they return to their masters. Jon Snow and Rickon Stark won’t look Aegon in the eye and Aegon wants to flee now even more than he did when direwolves were bearing down upon him.

“Two of the wolves whelped,” Arya says from behind him. “I wanted to see the pups.”

Her voice sounds odd. Aegon tries to think of a response, some way to salvage, but he does not know what to say. Brandon Stark nods an acknowledgement, but as Arya approaches the dais and her brothers Rickon seems unable to look at _her_ either.

“Arya-“ the youngest Stark begins to speak.

“No,” she says, still in the same odd voice. “You _promised_ me you wouldn’t do this anymore.” She sounds angry, and Jon Snow appears contrite when she sits beside him. “It isn’t funny.”

“It is a little funny,” Rickon insists. “At least this one didn’t cry.”

Aegon is beginning to understand and feels a little relief mix with his increasing annoyance. Arya is twirling a familiar looking wilted flower between her fingers and she is scowling at it.

“You chase away all of my friends.”

“They intend something other than friendship,” Jon Snow said quietly.

_I’m still here_ , Aegon wants to shout. The Northern king is the only person looking at him.

“Aegon is our guest,” Brandon Stark announces. “We must give his request fair consideration.”

The words are encouraging even if Aegon still feels somewhat humiliated. Arya is still scowling. Rickon whispers in Brandon’s ear, a loud whisper easily heard.

“I thought he was already courting her. He’s with her all the time.”

Brandon looks pained and it’s Jon who answers.

“Ladies are courted by their betrothed,” he says. “Arya keeps refusing the offers.”

“They didn’t want me,” Arya says hotly. She’s looking at the flower still. “They were all craven liars who stared at Sansa and wanted favours from Bran.”

“Arya,” Brandon says gently.

“I don’t want any favours,” Aegon interjects, unable to keep the indignation from his voice.

She lifts her head and looks at him, looks _into_ him it seems. He feels almost naked. It is unsettling.

“My brothers don’t decide for me.”

She has misunderstood him. _It’s all going wrong._ He says the only thing he can think in his defence.

“You should tell that to their wolves then.”

Her mouth opens, then closes, then she looks at her brothers again, shaking her head. Brandon Stark smiles as though he knows a secret.

“I’m afraid I cannot consider your request, as much as I might wish to.”

Aegon does not have time to feel disappointed. Arya is on her feet, and she smacks Brandon in the arm. It does not seem to bother him in the least.

“I’ll court who I want to,” she declares loudly.

Aegon catches Bran’s eye as Arya steps down from the dais and he is grinning, and Aegon knows then that he had at least one ally. Jon Snow gives him a tired looking smile and Rickon still looks confused. Arya is approaching Aegon and she holds the flower out to him.

“You keep it this time.”

Aegon takes it, grinning like the fool that he is and Arya is leading him from the hall. He is usually one to lead but this time he is content to follow. The direwolf shadows them but Aegon isn’t afraid this time and he no longer cares much about the giggles as they pass the onlookers. He isn’t sure where they are going but she leads him out of the castle, not saying a word, and he’s breathless when they finally stop and he realises they are in the same place as where she kissed him the day before.

Arya whirls around to face him, her face flushed from their haste.

“I won’t leave my wolves,” she warns him.

Aegon nods dumbly.

“Winterfell is my home,” she says warily.

He knows these are conditions, obstacles, but he can’t protest. He’s not thinking of marriage, not yet. He’s not even thinking of bedding her at this moment though he’d be a liar if he told her he’d never thought about it. Aegon is just remembering the smile she gave him when she left him the day before, and the feel of her lips on his cheek.

“Let’s start with a kiss,” he suggests. “You said I earned one after all.”

Her smile seems shy again.

“I said I’d permit it, not that you earned it.”

She’s looking at him in a way that doesn’t fit the shy smile, an inspection that makes him feel half naked again in a far more preferable way to her gaze in the hall. They both step forward at the same time and her hands are on his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. She doesn’t protest when he puts the flower behind her ear again, nor when his fingers linger at her cheek.

He hears the rustle of the leaves again, the strange whisper of her name, a whisper that this time sounds amused, and Arya shakes her head, the slightest movement, but she is smiling.

“Are you going to court me or not?” she asks.

He decides to ask about the whisper another time because Arya’s arms are circling his neck and she isn’t shy at all when his hands grip her hips. She looks into his face and her lips are parted, and when he bends to kiss her she pulls him closer, and nobody else matters at all.


End file.
